Equality
by maricsblade
Summary: Anja Amell is feeling ambivalent toward her relationship with her lover, Alistair, as she takes up her duties as Warden Commander. It really doesn't help that Alistair is absent and there's a charming mage about.
1. Chapter 1

_Written for the kink!meme, but the prompt would give the story away._

_Please review! Help me out with comments on plot, characterization, whatever!_

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In the dank gloom of the Keep's interior, Anja shivered involuntarily, and the fine blonde hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. She sensed evil, its smoky black tendrils curling toward her from the other side of the massive wooden door. No matter how many of these creatures she encountered, they were always dreadful, always horrifying.

She spoke quickly and confidently as she reached for the rusted metal handle. "Prepare yourself, Mhairi. There are probably several darkspawn on the other side."

Mhairi hunched her pauldroned shoulders, raised her shield and sword, and took a deep breath. "Ready, Commander."

The mage yanked the door open and stepped back behind it, shielding herself in case the creatures made a beeline for them.

But there was no sound or motion until Mhairi uttered a quiet, "Oh." She paused, lowering her sword and shield, and her feet seemed rooted to the floor. Curious, Anja peeked around the door.

There was no mass of darkspawn ready to charge. Instead a tall, broad-shouldered mage was roasting a single hurlock with a fire spell.

He turned to them as it hit the floor, then grinned and shrugged. "I didn't do it."

He continued speaking to them but Anja hardly heard a thing as she stood, transfixed, drinking him in. Sinewy biceps, flaxen hair swept into a short ponytail, a golden earring. But it was his smile and, for some reason, his downy, black-feathered spaulders that were really doing her in. Gradually she became aware of his voice again, and its gentle timbre was the perfectly knotted bow on a shimmering package of raw sensuality the likes of which she'd never encountered.

She shook her head, just barely, trying to snap out of it. He was introducing himself now—something about being a wanted apostate and how his encounter with the darkspawn had left his templar captors dead.

"You, my dear lady, may call me Anders."

"Nice to m—" Anja stopped herself and squinted at him. She knew the name. "Anders? You aren't just any apostate, then. You've escaped the Tower what, six times?"

"Seven," he sighed. "Not that anyone besides me is counting. You'd think they'd give me some credit by now." Then he grinned and his entire face lit up, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners in the most pleasing way. She found herself feeling a bit light-headed.

_That_ Anders. Smirking, Anja cocked her head. She knew she shouldn't say it, but something about his manner made her forget herself. She couldn't hold back. "Hey, I heard a story about you once."

"Just the one? How disappointing! But do tell."

"They say," she said, crossing her arms, pausing for effect, "you can cast a spell that makes women's small clothes disappear."

Mhairi gasped and stared at her, and Anders burst out laughing. "That's a new one! A great idea, too. On the other hand, I can't say I've had much…_need_ for a spell like that."

His eyes twinkled, and a tiny shiver ran up Anja's spine. He was not her type at all. In fact, he was almost exactly not her type. But Maker, what _fun_.

She narrowed her eyes playfully. "Oh, really!" She turned and punched Mhairi lightly in the shoulder. "Better watch out for this one, Mhairi. Definitely trouble."

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Surprisingly enough, Anders the Apostate seemed interested in sticking around to help out, and the three of them spent the rest of that day and the next clearing darkspawn from the rest of the Keep and ferreting out residents who'd been trapped or hiding. They included Varel, the Keep's seneschal; his captain, Garavel; a Mistress Woolsey; and, to her utter surprise, her old friend Oghren, who was not only in his usual good spirits despite the circumstances, but seemed intent on becoming a Grey Warden.

Anja was taken to meet a captive who turned out to be the son of the traitor Rendon Howe, come to take revenge on some Wardens for his father's death and reclaim some items from his family's childhood home. Nathaniel seemed to be Anders' alter ego—dark, brooding, and bitter. He claimed to be more willing to hang than join the efforts underway at the Keep, so Anja decided to conscript him. The Wardens needed bodies, and why should she let a Howe get what he wanted after all the damage his rat-faced father had done to the country during the Blight?

It was almost midnight and she stood yawning in the dim light of her newly assigned room, trying to calm her mind. The window was cracked and the curtains were parted, admitting a sliver of moonlight, and there was no sound except the chirping of crickets. She walked over to inspect the bed, which seemed to stretch endlessly in all directions, and drew her index finger along the finely crafted headboard. She guessed that it was mahogany, to match the desk, bench, dresser, and nightstands. Even in the feeble glow of the oil lamp it was easy to see the many nicks and scratches left by the room's previous occupants, but all the same, she felt a little thrill. It was the first space she could remember being able to call her own. The first thing she'd done after closing the door behind her was turn the key in the lock, and she'd grinned like a fool when the latch had clicked solidly into place.

After a year on the road saving Ferelden from the Blight, she and Alistair would finally have a real bed to share, and some well deserved privacy.

_When he returns_, she reminded herself. The thought cast a faint shadow across her heart.

The floor seemed to sway beneath her as she fumbled with the clasps on her robes. She was tired, so very tired, and the bed looked as inviting as a mother's arms. She still needed to brush her teeth, but she couldn't resist sitting down on the edge of the mattress. For one minute. Just one minute…


	2. Chapter 2

_Updated to remove pesky html tags._

_I write for reviews—what you liked and what you didn't! Help me out with comments on plot (such as it is), characterization, whatever comes to mind._

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A polite but insistent knocking woke her, and she squinted into a beam of sunlight that was busy burning itself onto her retinas. A man's voice came through the door. "Good morning, Commander. Breakfast is ready."

Anja rolled the word around on her lips. _Commander._ She wondered if she'd ever get used to it.

"Thank you; I'll be along shortly." She leaped out of bed and hurried to her washstand to clean her face. Then she combed and pinned her hair and headed downstairs.

Only one table in the cavernous dining hall was occupied, and as she approached it, heads turned to look at her. She rattled off their names to herself. She'd never been very good with names, and the past couple of days had been so crazy, she was sure to forget at least one. _Oghren, Varel, Garavel…Woolsey. Mhairi. Anders. Nathaniel. Cera, the…um…enchanter. Yuriah, the merchant._

"Good morning, everyone." She took the empty seat at the head of the table and nodded to the serving girl when a plate was immediately set in front of her. To her embarrassment, her stomach growled loudly.

A chorus of voices said, "Good morning, Commander." Mhairi, Varel, and Anders smiled warmly, Oghren was barely keeping his eyes open, and Nathaniel just glowered at her before spearing a piece of sausage with his dagger and lifting it to his mouth.

Anders pushed his plate aside. "Commander, if I might ask, what's on the agenda for today?"

Anja swallowed a mouthful of eggs and turned to him, trying not to to look too directly into his eyes and trying—probably unsuccessfully, she figured—to keep the interest out of her own.

"The usual, I imagine," she said breezily. "Darkspawn blood and guts. We need to check out those tunnels beneath the Keep and figure out how to keep any more of our smelly little friends from showing up."

Anders nodded and leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head. "Well, isn't it a good thing I'm a lover _and_ a fighter," he joked.

"And here I thought you were a healer," Nathaniel interrupted. "You can't exactly _rejuvenate_ them to death, you know."

Anders looked at him with amusement. "Interesting…I'll keep that attitude in mind the next time you find yourself wounded, Nathaniel. You might just find yourself at the bottom of my priority list."

So far Nate hadn't managed to say one nice thing to anyone, but it was probably best to cut him some slack. Still, Anja was glad for her recently thickened skin. Criss-crossing Ferelden to raise an army had done her a world of good in that regard. "Aw, look, we're already one big happy family," she said, and winked at Nate, who scowled and looked back at his food.

It was settled, though: she really liked Anders. It would be almost impossible not to.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

After dinner that night she went upstairs to her room, washed up, and flopped down unceremoniously onto her bed. A gentle breeze carried the almost incongruous scents of pine and jasmine through her window. Other than that and the crickets, there was silence—peaceful, glorious silence.

Deep Roads tunnels. That was how the darkspawn had gotten in. The longer she was here, the more mysterious the situation became. And on top of repairs to the damage caused during the darkspawn attack, she'd learned that the Keep required significant long-term improvements. Extensive, _expensive_ improvements.

Sometimes she couldn't help resenting the position she was in. Wasn't there someone else who could better deal with all these problems? All of these _people_? She gazed with longing at the shabby trunk in the corner near the window, stuffed not with toiletries or keepsakes or spare clothing but with her beloved books and journals. They were a downright nuisance to lug around with her, but she could never bring herself to leave them behind. Unfortunately, she never seemed to have time anymore to bury her nose in their musty pages, or even pick up her long-neglected quill. Apparently she could have a quiet life reading and writing about other people's interesting lives, or have an interesting life herself with no time for those favorite hobbies, but not both.

She sighed and stretched herself out on the bed. Really, if she thought about it, it was all his fault.

Well, partly.

Of course the Blight wasn't his fault. And the fact that she'd been conscripted into the Wardens wasn't his fault. But if Alistair had been just a little less insecure, a bit more decisive, he could have negotiated the support of their allies, made all those difficult decisions, and led their forces against the darkspawn. Instead he'd dumped it all in her lap, and to her everlasting astonishment, she'd become the Hero of Ferelden. Her! Then she'd actually chosen to become Warden Commander, because who else was going to do it? And now there was just no end to all the people and problems she would have to deal with in the foreseeable future.

She rolled onto her side. When she thought about him she felt a pang in her chest, and she scolded herself. _Andraste's ass, Anja. He's only been gone a week._

But there was more to the pang than his absence. She'd felt a gnawing unease about her feelings for him that had been growing slowly but surely over time, and since he'd left for Orlais it had really come to the fore. It was probably time to give this more thought, while he was gone and she could think more clearly.

When she'd arrived at Ostagar she'd still been infuriated with Jowan. Despite his being her friend she'd always known him to be a bit weak, but she'd never realized he was such an utter fool. She'd ruined her reputation on account of him and been sent away from the Circle where, for the first time in her life, she had actually excelled at something. She was still consumed with resentment when she met Alistair.

After all they'd been through, she still remembered happening upon him for the first time.

_"I was going to name one of my children after you. The grumpy one!"_

She'd appreciated his sense of humor, his leadership in the Wilds, and his willingness to answer every last one of her questions during that day before the battle. But then it had all gone so wrong, and they'd both been shellshocked. She'd started to wonder if they'd make it through the week. He seemed to be just another temporary companion in the endless upheaval that was becoming her life. As they'd traveled through Lothering and Redcliffe, though, they'd gradually become friends, providing each other with a willing ear and a shoulder to cry on when it was needed.

After they'd finished clearing out the Circle Tower she'd seen him through an adrenaline-fueled haze of survivor's relief, and she was so glad to see him in one piece she'd had to physically restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck. She'd flirted boldly with him in front of everyone before they'd even made it back downstairs to update Gregoir, and the realization of the strength of her feelings toward him had dazed her. She'd spent the next few months giddy and lovestruck, and their burgeoning relationship had served to get her through that part of their long and strenuous journey.

And then, unexpectedly, it had all begun to turn a bit dark.

_"Where do you think this is going, Alistair?"_

_"I really don't know. Arl Eamon means to make me king, and I don't know what it will mean for us."_

The more she'd asked, the more withdrawn he had become. Eventually, she'd stopped trying to discuss it. He seemed so willing to just hand the course of his life over to others. She'd told him that he needed to look out for himself, and he seemed to appreciate it and take it under consideration, but seeds of doubt had already been planted in her mind.

She fluffed her pillow into shape and sighed. How pointless was it to go over it all this again and again? But she was unable to stop, even though it never seemed to accomplish anything. It was probably going to be a sleepless night—as if she could afford any of those right now.

How she regretted the incident at the Pearl with that ridiculous pirate woman! She'd meant it as a test of his loyalty, to see how far he was willing to push his boundaries for her. But he'd not only seemed to enjoy it, he'd sounded disappointed when Anja had said it would never happen again! She couldn't help wondering if, in his most private moments, he still fantasized about Isabela, about that night, about having the two of them at once. If he did he was too reserved to bring it up, and somehow his keeping it private made it even worse.

Then at the Landsmeet she'd felt that their whole world was about to come crashing down around them. Despite Alistair's reluctance to discuss the matter, she knew there was no way the Fereldan nobles would allow their king to marry a mage. To her utter surprise and relief the matter of succession had been placed in her hands, and she'd selfishly kept Anora on the throne.

He'd slept with Morrigan to save their lives. They'd killed the Archdemon. And then he'd left for Orlais to try to bolster the Wardens' numbers. She'd hated to send him, but who else was there?

She was growing weary, she realized, of wondering when things would stabilize, when these dreadful surprises would stop catching her off guard, when they would ever have a break in the madness to really get to know each other. Maybe, given her age and position, she should just stop thinking about a future with him. Or with anyone, for the time being. She was only twenty-one, and she had serious responsibilities. All-consuming responsibilities.

Her thoughts turned briefly to Anders. He was warm, funny, and sarcastic like Alistair, without Alistair's baggage or complications. She was starting to suspect that Anders wasn't quite the cad that his reputation made him out to be, either. He genuinely liked people, enjoyed helping them. He seemed generous and solicitous. She suspected he was the same with women but simply valued his freedom too highly to be interested in commitments.

As niggling thoughts about Alistair tried to worm their way back into her mind, she forced herself to think about how Anders had ogled the statue of Andraste in the courtyard. Ultimately he'd used the opportunity to bring up Andraste's opinion on the oppression of mages, but still—it had been so funny, so _him_. And there was certainly nothing wrong with being passionate in one's beliefs.

She snuggled into her pillow again, and a few minutes later she drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

_Thanks to those who have reviewed and favorited! xoxoxo_

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_Firelight plays on their naked forms, sprawled on the bearskin rug. His tongue explores her mouth, one hand is in her golden hair, the other fondles her breast. She strokes him while she squeezes herself rhythmically against his thigh. It's gone on like this for ages, and she's more than ready for him to raise himself above her and spread her legs with one knee, for him to gaze darkly into her eyes and tease her with his rock-hard prick until she's whimpering and ready to beg. But as he prepares for his initial thrust, an alabaster hand reaches out to caress his ribs. He leans back and takes the hand in his. He smiles and rises to follow her, the pale, dark-haired vixen, as she leads him to the bed. She bids him lie down, climbs over him, straddles his waist. Taking him in hand, she slides herself slowly, ever so slowly, down, onto his cock, and it seems to take forever, and when he's finally buried deep and they moan in unison, she looks over her shoulder at Anja and smirks._

Anja woke with her hand between her legs and came a split-second later. As her breathing and heartbeat slowed, she wondered how long ago she'd stopped crying about this dream.

_Maker take you, Morrigan._

She rolled over and went back to sleep.

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The next morning she was woke up feeling guilty about the dream. Alistair had never asked to sleep with Morrigan; she'd talked him into it, and it was hardly fair to feel so bitter about it, no matter how much the thought of them together haunted and disgusted her.

She retrieved quill, ink, and parchment from her trunk, and sat down at her desk to write him a letter.

_Dearest Alistair,_

_I know this letter won't reach you for at least another week, but I hope it finds you well and that your journey was a safe one. I also hope you'll take some time to rest and maybe even do some sight-seeing before you take up your business with the Warden Commander. I'm sure it was a hard journey, especially after a year's worth of hard journeys._

_When I arrived at Vigil's Keep, the place was overrun by darkspawn. Some semblance of normalcy is returning, but there are mysterious goings-on and much work to do. The seneschal and his captain seem capable enough, as do the rest of the people here, so that gives me hope that we'll get everything sorted out eventually._

_We have four new Warden recruits, and you won't believe who they include: our old friend Oghren, who sends his regards, and Nathaniel Howe, who most assuredly does not. Yes, he's the son of that viper. Suffice it to say that we're desperate enough to take him. Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on my back._

_I'm glad we're doing meaningful things with our lives, but sometimes I find myself wishing we were born in another time—a more peaceful time, and we were apprentices, maybe, or shopkeepers, and we could enjoy a simple, quiet existence together instead of spending all our time fearing for our lives, or being apart, or both. In that case I might know the title of your favorite book by now, and what time of day you like best, and the name of that very large cat you had…maybe even something about your first crush. (Surely there was some little girl you had your eye on before Eamon sent you to the monastery? I can almost guarantee that some little girl had her eye on you…)_

_Then again, if we led those lives I'm sure we'd both be bored out of our skulls. I guess I can't have my cake and eat it too. More's the pity!_

_Please write to me as soon as you can and let me know how you are, and the outcome of your discussions with the Warden Commander. If we could convince him to send even fifty Wardens in the next few weeks, when it will matter most, it could make a world of difference._

_Yours,_

_Anja_

_P.S. Please hold your nose and sample the Orlesian wines and cheeses. I know how you dislike fussy things, but it would be a shame not to at least try them. I'm so jealous. How I wish I could join you there! Maybe someday we can go together._

She left the ink to dry and gave herself a moment to imagine Alistair traipsing the streets of Val Royeaux. She really hoped he would at least take some time to see the Grand Cathedral and visit the markets. Surely he'd sample the wines and cheeses, as she'd suggested. In her mind's eye she saw him wandering among the crowds dressed in the clothing she'd helped him buy just before he left. They'd found yellow chausses, a fine linen shirt, and a green tunic that brought out the red in his hair and the green in his eyes. She'd rarely seen him out of his armor, but she was sure he was turning some heads.

She sighed and rose to prepare herself for the day.

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She and Varel spent most of the afternoon getting ready to conduct the Joining ceremony. Anja had put it off in order to induct as many people as possible at once, reducing the need for multiple preparations.

That evening, after the skies had turned from deep indigo to black, the initiates assembled in the main hall, joking nervously. Without fanfare Varel spoke the invocation, then began the rite.

To Anja's surprise, Mhairi, Oghren, and Nathaniel each made it through the ritual without incident. Both she and Varel held their breath as Anders raised the chalice to his lips. Strictly speaking, Anders' own odds were not affected by the three prior successes, but all the same it would be a rare event indeed to suffer no deaths in a four-person Joining.

When Anders' eyes went white and he fell to the floor, writhing in agony, she felt a chill run up her spine. But Varel quickly announced that he would make it. As Varel helped him up and Anders sputtered the words "ghastly" and "disgusting," she felt an outsized sense of relief. She tried to tell herself it was due primarily to his valuable healing abilities.

"Well done, everyone!" she said, clapping each of them on the back. "This calls for a celebration. Thanks to Oghren we don't have much ale left at the moment," she said, glaring at the dwarf, "but I have a feeling you'll be cheap drunks after what you've just gone through."

She ushered her new Wardens into the dining hall. They took seats at their usual table and she requested that the staff bring several tankards of ale.

"I don't know what you're all complaining about," Oghren muttered after his first gulp of beer. Anja decided that the foam in his beard and mustache didn't really do much for his appearance. "That Joining was a walk in the park. Actually, we got any more of that darkspawn blood? This beer could use a good chaser."

Anja flushed slightly, feeling guilty that she couldn't have told them beforehand just how dangerous it was.

It was as if Varel had read her mind. "I can tell you now," he said solemnly, "the survival rate of the Joining isn't much better than fifty percent."

Nathaniel gave a low whistle and looked at her coolly. "So, Commander. You almost came through with my death sentence after all." Anja had noticed a bit less animosity in his voice lately, but he certainly didn't sound happy right now. She really couldn't blame him.

Anders, too, gave her a dark look. "I hope you won't keep any more secrets like that from us, Commander," he said, before taking a long draught from his mug. "Don't get me wrong, I'm _overjoyed_ to officially be free of the templars. But imagine my disappointment if I'd wound up dead instead!"

Anja nodded. "I understand, Anders. I had the same reaction myself when I found out."

"But if you told anyone the risk, there wouldn't be any Grey Wardens," Mhairi interrupted.

"Exactly right," Anja agreed.

She made a note to tell them the rest of the bad news the next day and not let it out in dribs and drabs as Duncan and Alistair had done to her. There was a lull as everyone stared into their beer, contemplating just how badly the evening could have turned out.

"So, Commander," Oghren began again. "When's your templar coming back to join us? In case you haven't noticed, we can use all the bodies we can get."

Anders coughed, almost choking on his beer. "Your lover is a _templar_?"

Anja groaned inwardly. Leave it to Oghren to bring this up at the least opportune moment. She hadn't planned to mention Alistair until just before he arrived, which could still be weeks away. She still needed to work out how Alistair would report to her without risking accusations of favoritism or worse from the others under her command. It was almost certainly going to be a tricky situation.

Anders was still looking at her, waiting for a response. Anja chuckled and shook her head. "He's not quite a templar. He completed his training but never took his vows."

Now Anders looked confused. "How does that work? The templars aren't exactly fond of letting people _get away_, whether they're mages or other templars."

"Too true," she agreed. "He was conscripted into the Wardens at the last minute. He's always been glad about that. He was really miserable."

A look of relief came over Anders' face. "Anyone who was miserable in templar training can't be all bad." He paused and tapped his chin. "So, a mage and an almost-templar? That could be a lot of fun, actually."

Anja regarding him quizzically, sipping her beer.

"Oh, you know," Anders prodded. "The spells and counter-spells, the whole smiting thing…that lovely, languorous feeling when you've been drained of all your mana…" He smiled at her roguishly.

Dear Maker, he was even more reckless than she would have guessed! Not that she, personally, would know about that kind of thing. Alistair had never been enthusiastic about magic in the bedroom. He said that thanks to his training, it only got his hackles up; he couldn't relax.

"Smiting is quite dangerous, Anders," she said, not bothering to hide her alarm. "In case you missed this bit, it's, ah…intended to kill you."

He snickered and shrugged. "Bit of pain heightens the pleasure, don't you find?" he asked with a wink.

Her eyes narrowed, and she set down her mug. He'd let something slip yesterday, and now he'd just given her the perfect opportunity to harass him about it. "So _that_ raises an obvious question. What, exactly, have you been doing with that templar? You know, the female one, who you said always escorts you back to the Tower."

He rested his chin on folded arms and gazed up at her. "My dear, just how in Thedas do you think I've managed to escape the Tower _seven times_?"

For a second she felt tremendously envious of that templar. "Maker, Anders, I was joking! Don't you ever tell the truth?"

He looked at her innocently, all earnestness and raised eyebrows. "Who says I'm not?"

Shaking her head, she turned to Mhairi and changed the subject.

As the evening wore on her companions began excusing themselves. Varel retired first. Next, Oghren, Nathaniel, and Mhairi rose to leave. The Joining really had taken a lot out of them, she realized. Even Oghren, who could usually put it away all night, had only managed about a third of his usual intake.

Anja noticed that Nathaniel had pulled Mhairi's chair out for her. He was a noble's son, possessing manners befitting his station, but still. She was going to have to keep an eye on those two, for Mhairi's sake.

Anders rose last, but instead of leaving he walked slowly around to her side of the table, trailing long fingers along its rough-hewn surface, and took the seat to her left. He looked even more relaxed than usual, if that were possible, but he didn't seem the least bit tipsy.

Anja was feeling intoxicated, however, and she suspected it had little to do with the beer. She'd tried her best not to watch Anders' triceps twitch as he'd pulled out his chair. How in the Maker's name was a mage even built like that? This was the closest she'd ever been to him, and her heart beat noticeably faster as she tried to avoid staring at his clean, shiny hair, the bit of scruff on his jaw, those damnable feathers. He smelled faintly and quite pleasantly of Antivan herbal soap.

"I really like you, you know," he said, and reached up to tweak her nose. "It's a shame about that other fellow. Even if he isn't a templar."

Mild bells sounded in her head. It seemed he had picked up on her interest despite all her intentions to the contrary. Surely a beau posed no moral obstacle for him. Was he testing her?

"A shame for you, maybe," she replied. "I happen to like that other fellow." She eyed him carefully, looking amused. "Just what do you see in me, Anders? Try to be honest. I can smell bullshit a mile away."

He attempted to feign offense, his mouth open wide, but started laughing instead. "Is that some bonus Warden ability you picked up during your Joining?" His eyes were playful as he reached back and stroked his ponytail.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. "No, I think I've had it since birth. That's why it's _foolproof_."

"Oh, all right." He was playing at resignation now. "Let's say you weren't brilliant, formidable, strong-willed, all that. Wouldn't it be enough that I find you incredibly attractive?"

She drummed her fingers on the table and her green eyes did their best to burn a hole through him. "Don't you find every woman incredibly attractive, Anders? You were hitting on _Andraste's statue_ the other day, if I recall correctly."

He chuckled. "Point! Okay, honestly? That's one of the things I like best about you. Reminds me of my parents. My father loved to tell stories. Okay, whoppers. My father loved to tell whoppers. And my mother loved to call him out on them. Preferably with an audience. The more people, the better."

"Aw, I like your mother already."

"I thought you would."

He gazed at her steadily, and she marveled at his manner. He was not aggressive or cocky, not plaintive or overeager, not calculating or deceitful. He was just _open_. He openly wanted her, and if he could have her, good, and if he couldn't, that was fine too. No hurt feelings. No drama.

She grinned, feeling like a cat ready to pounce. "So you're saying you just told a whopper when you said I'm incredibly attractive? And now I'm supposed to call you on it? It doesn't seem quite fair to ask me to do that, honestly."

"Maker—no!" He laughed, but for the first time she saw him look the slightest bit flustered. "A wag needs a foil, a straight man. You know what I mean. And you, my dear, are about as straight as they come."

Her brows knit; that irked her a little. What did he presume to know about her, other than what she'd chosen to show him? Of course she _was_ terribly straight, but it was a tad disappointing to know that others saw it so plainly. She looked at him coyly. "I don't know, Anders. I might not be quite as straight as you think I am."

"Now _that_ sounds promising." His eyes held mirth and mischief, but he made no move toward her. She had no doubt that if they were peers, though, sitting in some darkened tavern corner, he'd be lightly stroking the back of her neck, maybe tracing the curve of her ear—templar lover or no.

It really was time to get out of here before something regrettable happened. "I think I'll call it a night, Anders," she said, smiling sweetly. She stood to leave and he rose too, reaching for her hand and pressing it to his lips.

"Spoilsport." That grin again, then he let go of her hand. "Good night, Commander. And sweet dreams."

She turned and quickly headed for her room, trying not to look like she was running away. Once she'd cleaned up, gotten into bed, and closed her eyes, she immediately saw his face. In her imagination he was always smiling, his eyes always shining—so full of _life_. Surely no one could be like that all the time. Her mind was playing tricks on her. She was just trying, subconsciously, to put unhappy thoughts about Alistair out of her head. Right?


	4. Chapter 4

_Thanks to everyone who has subscribed, favorited, and/or reviewed. You make my day :-)_

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Time passed in a blur. She and Varel hosted a group of nobles who bent her ear with conflicting yet entirely reasonable requests, as well as rumors of a conspiracy against her. Anders found and adopted a little orange tabby. The Wardens journeyed together to Amaranthine and found even more work for themselves while managing to reunite Nathaniel with his long-lost sister. All the while she and Anders kept up their breezy flirtation. She tried not to think of him when she brought herself off in the middle of the night, but it was difficult and even silly, since thoughts of him were usually the reason she was still awake.

She'd marked three weeks at the Keep when the mail girl handed her an ecru envelope sealed with red wax bearing the initials "AT." Anja dashed up to her room, sat down at her desk, and used her dagger to carefully separate wax from paper.

_Dearest Anja,_

_Thank you for your letter. My journey to Val Royeaux was uneventful—the best type of journey, in my opinion._

_I did spend a couple of days resting and sightseeing before arranging to meet with the Warden Commander. The Grand Cathedral is quite beautiful. It's an architectural wonder, really. Isn't it amazing what human beings can do with access to enough power and vast sums of money?_

_I tried the wines and cheeses too. They were quite good. But as you predicted, I'd still take dwarven ale and Fereldan cheddar any day of the week._

_You know I can't wait to be with you at Vigil's Keep. I'll tell you all about my favorite book, my favorite time of day, that great big cat…and the little girl who lived down the road from the monastery. (How did you know? Are all women so sly?) Of course, once I get you behind closed doors my mouth is going to be fully occupied, so you'll just have to wait a bit to hear any of this…_

_Now to the reason for my visit. I have excellent news. The Orlesian Warden Commander has agreed to send fifty Wardens to assist in our efforts against the stragglers. Even better, he didn't seem opposed to the idea of their staying on permanently. I'm sure his order will be met with a lot of eye-rolling—these are Orlesian Wardens we're talking about, after all. But they're five hundred strong and I think that relocating ten percent of their number is perfectly reasonable given what's happened and what's still happening in Ferelden._

_By the way, they were both curious and baffled as to how we survived slaying the Archdemon. I could only shrug and shake my head. It's a mystery for the ages!_

_I look forward to seeing you soon, my love. In fact, I leave tomorrow morning. With any luck I'll be in your arms by the end of the week._

_Yours,_

_Alistair_

One more week. She could hold out that long. When he got back, they'd have a long talk.

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

She was in her office the next day when Nathaniel dropped by to recommend that they make another journey to Amaranthine.

"What do you mean, we should go back? We've only just returned," she said impatiently.

"The attacks are already stepping up," Nathaniel pointed out. "Even if they don't manage to kill us, or you, they're sapping our time and energy. We confront them every other time we step foot outside the Keep. Just give him his fifty sovereigns and let him do his job."

Anja had refused to pay an informant to help root out the conspiracy against them. Fifty sovereigns was a lot of coin—coin that could go a long way to improving the Keep. She absolutely hated the idea of giving so much money to some shady middleman, especially when the Wardens were so capable and well armed. But Nathaniel was right. And the longer it went on, the bolder they would become.

Two days later they were in Amaranthine, handing the money to the Dark Wolf. Then Anders ran into a friend who gave them a bad tip about the location of Anders' phylactery, and they went on a wild goose chase and he was almost captured by templars.

What a crazy week it had been. Now Anja was sitting on a secluded bench under some flowering trees, taking a few minutes to gather her thoughts, when Anders strolled up and gestured at the seat beside her.

"May I?"

"Of course."

He sat down, and she was glad it was at a comfortable distance. The smell of his soap was already starting to unnerve her.

"I'm glad I found you here. I wanted to thank you for being willing to help me find my phylactery. And for not turning me over to Rylock, of course."

She smiled at him sympathetically. "Why would I turn you over to the templars, Anders? Granted, I never had much problem with the Circle, but we're all different, aren't we? I trust you. I know how you detest maleficarum. Besides, I meant what I told them. You're already doing a great job as a Warden."

He looked pleased at the compliment, then gave her a knowing grin. "Well, I appreciate that you're sympathetic. No doubt my life, and now yours, would be a lot easier if I were more like you."

"If everyone were like me the world would be an incredibly dull place," she said, waving a hand dismissively. "Think of it! People would bring books to parties. Instead of drinking and dancing they'd read, or study the tapestries on the walls. There'd never be any ale or dessert. Eventually there'd be mass suicide, and just like that, the darkspawn would have Ferelden all to themselves."

He was laughing now. "That's ridiculous! Don't say that about yourself."

"But it's true!"

"No way. You're grounded, rational, determined. A leader. Look at all you went through to end the Blight! You killed the bloody Archdemon! You'll be written about in history books. You're all these things I could never be."

"And yet…dull."

"Hey." His amber eyes grew serious as he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. It was the first time she'd seen that look on his face, and suddenly she was terrified. "Let me show you how _not dull_ I think you are." He slipped a hand behind her head, pulled her gently toward him, and closed his eyes.

She snapped her head back, and he let go of her immediately. She covered her face with her hands, making a steeple over her nose, and avoided looking at him directly. "I…you must know by now that I want you, Anders. But I can't do this to Alistair. I'm just not the type."

He nodded and reached out to touch her cheek, and his smile held the barest trace of disappointment. "I know, Anja. You're a good woman." He rose and held out his hand to her. When she looked up, the twinkle was already returning to his eyes. "More's the pity!"

Just then Anja's stomach growled. Anders patted his belly. "Come on, let's go to the dining hall. It's suppertime."

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

The next evening she stood on her balcony, waiting. The sun had set, and the trees were black silhouettes against a sky streaked with red, orange, and purple.

A burly, dark-haired sentry, slightly out of breath, knocked on her open door. "Commander. A man at the gates to see you. Alone, on horseback."

"His name?"

The man shifted uncomfortably and straightened his shoulders. "He would only say, 'The mage sasser,' Commander."

A tiny smile played about her lips. She nodded. "Show him to the guest quarters. I'll meet with him shortly."

"Yes, Commander."

She closed her door to brush her hair and she heard Alistair arrive at his room down the hall. When the shuffling and commotion ceased, she headed to his temporary lodging in the guest quarters. She felt a perplexing mix of joy, excitement, and apprehension as she raised her hand and knocked gently.

The door opened a crack. She saw a shock of copper hair, a warm hazel eye, and half a grin, and then he disappeared, opening the door wide and closing it shut behind her.

She'd almost forgotten how tall he was. And how wide. He was wearing the green tunic over a linen shirt and breeches, and he smelled faintly of horses. In one smooth motion he picked her up and buried his nose in her hair. "_Maker_, I've missed you. Four weeks! Do you realize that until this we'd never been apart for more than twenty-four hours?" He set her down, cupped her face in his hands, and proceeded to shower her with kisses, which she returned warmly before taking a step back.

Somehow, despite all the doubts she'd been experiencing lately, having him here in front of her was reassuring. He was beaming at her and she couldn't help but smile back. She felt some of her anxiety melt away.

"So, the 'mage sasser'! That's a new one."

"I was tired—ran out of ideas. Damned surname is nothing but trouble these days. But cute, right? Goes way back, doesn't it?"

Funny how she'd thought of it not long ago—a moment of levity in a busy day before all hell had broken loose. "It goes _all_ the way back."

He put one arm behind her back and one under her knees and effortlessly scooped her up. "All the way back. Yep. Just how I want you lying on this bed."

He dumped her there unceremoniously, and she giggled as he climbed over her. He grinned and began unlacing his tunic.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thanks to everyone who has subscribed, favorited, and/or reviewed. Reviews and constructive criticism make writing worthwhile. :-)_

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

The next morning, while it was still dark, she returned to her room carrying an open package. After closing her door she immediately hung up the dress Alistair had given her before they'd finally gone to sleep. Made of fine linen, it was dyed a deep red and the bodice was woven with shiny white ribbon. She was generally uninterested in fashion, and Maker knew when she'd have occasion to wear it, but it was beautiful, no doubt about it.

With Alistair's arrival, their group coalesced over the next fortnight into a finely tuned fighting machine. It was good to have a second warrior with some leadership skills at the front of their party again. Mhairi had had to shoulder the burden for far too long.

Anders, especially, seemed to appreciate Alistair's presence. After all, he and Anja were most likely to be hurt if the group was overwhelmed. And Alistair seemed to appreciate Anders' abilities as well. At dinner one night he even compared Anders favorably to Wynne.

"That's high praise," Anders commented. "Not that I could stand being around her for more than five seconds. So school-marmy! But she's one of the Circle's best, I'll say that."

Later that night Alistair and Anja were talking in her room, as they sometimes did before sleep. Unfortunately Alistair was now lodging on the far side of the floor, and in an effort to keep the rumor mill to a dull roar they hadn't spent the night together nearly as often as she'd anticipated.

He was sitting on her bench, chin in hand. "So Anders seems like a good man," he said cautiously, giving her a surreptitious glance.

She smiled, trying not to feel self-conscious. "He is! Bit of a wag, but he means well. And as you've seen, he's very talented."

Alistair's eyes narrowed a bit. "Does he…have a thing for you?"

"Don't worry," she reassured him. "With Anders, a 'thing' truly doesn't mean a thing. He's a confirmed bachelor."

Alistair grunted. "That doesn't mean I like him making eyes at you every time I turn my head."

She felt heat rise in her face. Alistair had slept with two other women—at her behest, she could never forget that, but still! Here he was, getting annoyed over a bit of flirting. She felt her resentment start to boil over, and she knew it was time. "We need to talk," she said flatly.

"About what?"

"About us."

"Really? I was just going to ask you to have him tone it down a little. I like him, and he is talented. I don't want to lose it one day and find my hand around his throat."

Maker, sometimes he was so _clueless_.

She walked over to the bed and sat down on its edge, and patted the spot beside her.

"Uh oh," he said, rising reluctantly from the bench. "This can't be good." He approached the bed and sat beside her, and as the mattress sank under his weight she almost fell into him. He rested his hands on his thighs and fixed his gaze on the floor.

"You know I love you, right?" she began, looking sidelong at him.

"Of course I do! I have no reason to believe otherwise."

She paused, trying to think of a tactful way to say what she needed to say. "I need to tell you that I've been having some doubts about our relationship lately. And they aren't necessarily fair, but I just can't get them out of my head."

"What…what do you mean? What sort of doubts?" He sounded a bit panicky.

"I don't know if doubts is even the right word," she said with a sigh. "I've just been having these feelings."

"Please just spit it out," he urged. "You've got me really worried here."

"All right." She took a deep breath. "I think there are basically two things. First, you were never able to commit to a future with me. I know we've discussed it. And I told you how I admired your dedication to duty. And maybe I'm just some silly woman, or a hopeless romantic—I don't know. But it hurt. It _still_ hurts. And nothing I can do can erase the idea that you would have just tossed me aside without so much as a harsh word to Eamon or anyone else."

"Anja, we've talked about this…"

"I know. Like I said, it isn't necessarily fair. But it's what I feel. It's what I still feel, after all this time, and I don't know how to stop feeling it. I never could have done that to you."

He looked forlorn. "Fair enough. That's the way you feel, and I can't go back and fix it. What else?"

The next part was going to be harder, because most of the blame lay with her. She hated to bring it up, but there was no longer any choice.

"I have these thoughts about you. Memories, images in my mind, of that night with Isabela. It isn't your fault, I know that. I talked you into it. I was testing you, to see how far you'd put yourself out for me. But you reacted differently than I expected. _She_ reacted differently than I expected." She closed her eyes, remembering how singularly enthusiastic Isabela had been toward Alistair. "It made me jealous. I wonder sometimes if you're thinking of her, or fantasizing about that night."

He fidgeted with his hands, looking sheepish, then apologetic. "Anja…I can't lie. I'm a man. Of course I do." His voice was low and soft. "I've tried, and I can't get erase that night any more than you can. I'm sorry."

She nodded, accepting the sting, feeling her throat constrict. It was her own bloody fault.

"And then Morrigan…" her voice trailed off. "I know, I asked you to do that as well. And I'd do it again. There's no way it wasn't worth it. But it's in there, too. These things I imagine, things I can't stop thinking about. _Dreaming_ about."

He nodded, covering his face briefly with his hands. "I'm sorry about that too. But in the end, I'm glad you asked me to do it. Twenty-five is too young to die."

She sighed. "I guess I feel that when I met you, we were equals. We were each other's first. Hell, I was the one having to chase you around, remember? And now I feel as if you've left me behind. I can't describe it. It just feels…unfair.

"So there it is," she said. "I've made my bed, and I have to lie in it. But lately I'm finding that bed more and more uncomfortable, and I don't know what to do about it. Like I said though, I do love you."

He looked stricken as he took her hand and rubbed her knuckles. "I'm so sorry," he offered. "We never talked about these things like we should have. I didn't realize you were feeling so…unappreciated. If that's the word."

She shrugged and nodded, trying to keep her lower lip from trembling as a tear slipped down her cheek. He reached up and brushed it away with his thumb.

And then an idea came to him. "Let me make it up to you, Anja," he said, and kissed her where the tear had fallen.

She nodded again, mutely.

He knew what he had to do.


	6. Chapter 6

_Sorry for that last short chapter. Chapter-splitting is a skill I'm still learning. :-)_

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The next afternoon they were talking in her room again when there was a knock at the door. Anja knew something was up when Alistair jumped to his feet to answer it.

"Anders." Alistair swung the door wide to let Anders in, and clapped him on the back.

Anja heard a cat's meow, and Anders turned to find that he'd been followed. "Pounce, you arrogant little imp!" He shooed his cat back into the hallway. "Believe it or not, you aren't welcome _everywhere_ I go."

Anja stood, brows knit, regarding him. "Anders! To what do we owe the pleasure?"

He reached around to remove his staff and its sling from his back, then leaned them against the corner near the door. He slipped off his shoes and gave her a mischievous grin. "Good afternoon, Anja." He looked briefly around her room before answering. "I believe you owe the pleasure to…pleasure," he said, with a meaningful glance at Alistair. "I must admit, though, this isn't exactly how I imagined our first time would play out."

The crease in her brow deepened. "Our first…?"

Anja's eyes darted to Alistair, who responded with an arch look. As his meaning dawned on her, her mouth fell open. This could not be happening. Could it?

Anders was whistling jauntily now and starting to remove his spaulders—those same black-feathered garments that had made her knock-kneed the day they'd met. Anja looked again to Alistair. He nodded silently, and his unhesitating assent sent a shiver up her spine.

She stepped up quietly behind Anders. "Here, let me help you with those," she offered breathlessly, her voice almost giving out.

"Oh, by all means," he purred. Then he smiled at her over his shoulder, as if to say, "See? I knew we'd get together eventually."

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

_If you're under 18 or don't like graphic depictions of sex, please skip to the next chapter. Suffice it to say that a good time was had by all. :-)_

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

As she reached for a buckle her fingers brushed against the dark plumage, making a dry swishing sound. Many mages wore feathers. Why had these always affected her so? She supposed she might never know the answer.

She laid his spaulders on the dresser and moved on to his robes. "So, I'm just going to do what I like here, until someone tells me otherwise," Anders commented to no one in particular as Anja unfastened the clasp at his neck. As she helped him shrug the garment off she took a second to admire his form. He looked almost as strong as Alistair, yet she'd never seen him exercise. Maybe he got out before the sun came up?

He held out his arms so she could work at his black leather bracers. She removed them, followed by his gold armbands, and then only his skirt remained.

"It fastens in the back," he said, pulling her into him and placing her hands just above the waistband.

She colored as she found herself pressed up against him, her breasts mashed into his naked chest. She inadvertently pulled him even closer as she tried to undo the minuscule hooks, and she felt something stir against her thigh.

"No rush," he teased. "Please, take your time!"

After the third hook came undone he wiggled his hips, and she pulled the skirt over his head and tossed it aside. He stood before her in nothing but his small clothes now, and while her mind might have felt a bit uncomfortable at this wholly unexpected situation, her body clearly had no problem with it _at all_.

"Your turn," Anders said, leading Anja to the edge of the bed. He turned her away from him, and she glanced over at Alistair. He was standing in the same place as earlier, his expression impassive. "Go on, love," she coaxed him, feeling not a little guilty. "You won't have any fun with all your clothes on."

The sound of her voice seemed to shake him from his reverie. "I suppose you're right," he responded, and began unlacing his tunic.

Anders undid all her hooks and pulled her top and skirt over her head. Then he undid her breastband and let it fall to the floor, leaving her in her small clothes. He kissed and traced his fingertips over her neck and shoulders, making her shudder, and turned her around again to place a scorching kiss on her lips.

"Lie down, darling," he said, nudging her backward across the bed.

He lay down beside her and began by barely touching her, lightly kissing her neck and shoulder again, tracing the curve of her breasts with his fingertips. It was all so barely there and she was so ticklish that in no time she found herself writhing and shuddering under his hands. She reached out to Alistair. Naked now, he walked toward the bed and lay down on her other side, and she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax as the two men's fingers, lips, and tongues descended upon her skin.

Anders walked his fingers down to the joining of her thighs and began stroking her through her small clothes. Again his touch was light and teasing, but she was so wet that the fabric stuck to her. It might as well not have been there at all, and it was all she could do not to thrust her hips and chase more of the friction that she already needed so badly.

As he sensed her growing frustration, a devilish smile crept into Anders' voice. "So I owe you an apology, Anja. You were right. Not so straight after all." A low, reflexive moan escaped her, and he laughed deep in his throat.

He slipped his hand into her small clothes and drew his middle finger up her slick sex, stopping before he got to the top. He withdrew his hand and coated a nipple thickly with her quim, teasing it to point and flicking his tongue against it before slipping it into his mouth and sucking greedily. He groaned as he tasted her, and through his small clothes she felt his cock jump against her thigh.

She opened one eye and saw that Alistair had rolled away from her and was stroking himself lazily, apparently content for now to watch the show. She reached out to him, but he made a quiet sound of reassurance and gently pushed her hand away.

Anders moved lower down the bed, kissing and licking her stomach. He caught the narrow band of her small clothes between his teeth and slowly tugged on them until they were down around her knees. She slid one long calf out and settled back into the bed, trying not to spread her legs too obviously despite her growing desperation.

But he wasted no time, and she was glad of it. His bangs fell over his forehead as he licked the hollows of her upper thighs, then teased her outer lips apart and went to work, still delicately, still teasingly, on the pink flesh within. When he finally flicked her hard little bead with his tongue, she thought she might scream. Her left hand went into his hair of its own accord and began tenderly massaging his scalp.

He settled in, expertly licking and sucking, and every time she got close he would ease her back down. Eventually she gave up trying to come and ceded control to him. Before long she felt the bed spin lazily to and fro, as if floating in the current of some ancient, meandering river. On the backs of her eyelids she saw a shifting palette of colors, and every now and then a different number would flash before her, always white, always a single digit, before growing in size and then slowly fading away.

She had a single conscious thought: Sweet _Maker_, did he know how to go down.

When Anders decided she'd had enough he slipped two fingers inside her and curled them slightly, sliding them in and out. He sped up the flutter of his tongue, keeping the pressure constant, and seconds later her body was wracked by spasms of pleasure as she reached an explosive climax. Alistair tried to stifle her wails with one hand while coming into his other.

As she thrashed about, trying free her mouth to gasp for air, she felt Anders' hot, chuckling breath against her sex.

"Liked that, did we? So did I. Always good to enjoy one's work, wouldn't you agree?"

She longed to see the knowing, self-satisfied look on his face, to see his mouth and chin slick and shining with her come. But she simply couldn't will herself to open her eyes just yet. She turned her to Alistair and pulled him down into a deep, languorous kiss, and she was deeply relieved and grateful to encounter no hint of reluctance, discomfort, or hurt as she lovingly probed his mouth and offered him her tongue.

"Mmm, isn't that nice," Anders said under his breath. Anja imagined him teasing and tugging at himself through his small clothes as he spied their kiss, and as her body responded to that image she wondered how she would ever thank Alistair for this night.

Despite her satisfaction, or maybe because of the way in which it had been given, she still felt a yearning emptiness. She wanted, needed, one of them inside her. But how to ask?

She broke her kiss with Alistair and opened her eyes, looking at each of them in turn. Her lover was still quiet and uncharacteristically serious, his hazel eyes calm as he gently palmed one of her breasts, tweaking her nipple between his second and third fingers. Anders looked just as she'd imagined he would, and she was awed again by his relaxed demeanor as he grinned and started pulling himself up toward her.

She hesitated, not knowing how to communicate what she wanted. This night was already all about her; the thought of making requests seemed almost gluttonous. Finally, a little voice in her head spoke up.

_Stop being such a ninny! This will probably happen only once—do you really want to miss out because you, the Hero of Ferelden, uniter of armies, slayer of Urthemiel, didn't have the temerity to open your bloody mouth?_

She looked up again at Alistair. "I'd…I'd like you to take me from behind while I go down on Anders," she said, her voice almost squeaking.

"As you wish, my love," he said with a nod, and kissed her again before patting her hip to signal her to change position.

Anders made his way to the headboard and, after plumping a pillow against it, laid back against it, his legs splayed out before him.

"I think I need to lose these," he suggested to Anja with a wink, tugging at his smalls. "Will you do the honors?"

She recalled the crack she'd made the day they met. "So _I_ should have been the one to learn that spell!" He laughed, and she was flattered he'd remembered it. He was gazing at her thoughtfully, and she knew that he too was recalling their first meeting. She wondered, not for the first time, what had run through his mind the first time he saw her.

What a strange turn of events all of this was. If someone had told her that within a month she'd have Anders in her bed—along with Alistair, no less—she'd have sworn the prognosticator was either drunk or suffering from lyrium exposure.

"Come here and kiss me," Anders said, reaching one foot around her bottom and dragging her toward him. He pulled her head to his and kissed her hungrily, open-mouthed, his tongue demanding that she taste herself on him. "Be sure to clean me well, darling," he said throatily into her ear, and she moaned and licked the wide swath of ever-present stubble around his lips and chin.

Then she motioned for Alistair to join them. She leaned back between them, an arm raised around the back of each man's head, kissing the lips of one and then the other, and the thought that Alistair was tasting her from Anders' mouth made the blood throb low in her belly.

Alistair gave a sudden yelp. "Anders," he growled. "No!"

"Oh, you don't like rejuvenation spells?" Anders tsked, sounding disappointed. "You heard what Anja asked for a moment ago. I thought the motto for today was, 'What the woman wants, the woman gets.' Or did I misunderstand something?"

"No magic in the bedroom!" Alistair bellowed. Anja reached out to try to shush him.

"You can't be serious," Anders protested, mouth agape. He turned to Anja with the look of a child being denied a sweet on a special occasion. "He can't be serious!"

"It's difficult to unlearn," Alistair muttered, flushing slightly.

"Anders," she said, rubbing Alistair's cheek. "Templar training, remember? Be nice."

"Oh, all right," he grumbled. "But you should work on that. You two are _really_ missing out." He paused and shook his head. "Now, where were we?" He clasped his hands behind his head and stretched, arching his back and wiggling his toes, his erection straining against the cloth of his small clothes.

Anja kissed Alistair one more time and then moved to lower herself between Anders' thighs. There was a wet smear directly over the bulge in the fabric, and his musky scent tickled her nose. How many times, lying dejected and alone in her room at night, had she imagined a moment like this? She closed her eyes as a current of excitement crackled over her skin.

She bent her head and sucked on the wet spot, enjoying the salty taste, then started licking at him through the material, occasionally scraping her teeth across it or mouthing him, breathing hot, moist air through the damp cloth. As she tugged the garment just far enough down his hips to spring him free and give her full access to him, she felt a callused hand cup her buttock and trail down to draw circles on her inner thigh, making her quiver and gasp.

This would be excellent, indeed.

She took Anders into her mouth and went to work, attending to his shaft, sac, and crown and, with the help of her hands, sometimes all three at once. Anders wound his hands into her hair, groaning, writhing, and rocking his hips as Anja did everything she could to make it as good for him as he had for her. Meanwhile, Alistair's fingers teased and caressed her until she raised herself onto her knees and elbows and looked at him imploringly over her shoulder.

"Alistair…_please_…"

His eyes were almost glassy with arousal at her need as he moved to kneel behind her. He placed kisses along her spine and teased her briefly before plunging in all the way, making her cry out with pleasure. He plumbed her slowly and thoroughly, enabling her to set the rhythm among the three of them, and the sensation as he repeatedly hit that special spot deep inside only made her minister to Anders even more fervently.

She looked up and Anders' head was pressed back against the headboard, his chin jutting upward and the cords in his neck standing out. Sweat was beginning to bead on his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed to slits. When he looked down and caught her gazing at him, she saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard. He cupped her cheek with one hand, then reached down to caress her breast, pulling her nipple between his fingers. Her eyes closed as she felt tiny static sparks in her clit, urging her higher. She wondered if she was imagining them. She looked up and their eyes met again, and his strained expression softened as a tiny, conspiratorial smile played at one corner of his mouth.

Maker's _balls_, was he sexy! And, it seemed, completely incorrigible. He was being subtle and very, very careful, but she knew that Alistair must be fully preoccupied to miss what Anders was doing.

At the multitude of sensations—Anders in her mouth, his fingers rolling her nipple, the little jolts of current, and Alistair beginning to move more purposefully inside her—she began groaning regularly and involuntarily, eventually setting off a chain reaction among the three of them. When she came, her cries and the feel of them reverberating in her throat brought Anders to his end. Their commingled sounds of ecstasy then undid Alistair, and his own voice joined the mix. As she rode out her bliss she found herself uncharacteristically eager to devour every drop of Anders' seed while her pulsing sheath rhythmically milked Alistair's cock.

Relishing the residual notes of their lovemaking, she rolled onto her back and beckoned both of them into her arms, and the three of them curled into each other and soon dozed off.

She woke a bit later with a start. The sun was low on the horizon now, bathing the room in pink and gold. Anders slept to her right and Alistair to her left, and she quietly turned her head back and forth a few times, comparing their features. Though Alistair was more classically handsome, she realized with surprise that they could almost be brothers. And she'd never noticed how much red there was in Anders' hair.

As she watched them sleep and admired the slant of fading light and shadow across their battle-toned bodies, she again felt a tug down low in her belly. She reached out one hand to rouse each of them.

They woke up in turn, and when they realized what she was doing, they each lay on their side next to her and started making love to her mouth, neck, breasts, and belly. Alistair reached down and fondled her until the three of them became one undulating, sighing beast.

"I have an idea," Anders offered. "Something I'd like us to do for Anja. But Alistair, it will take some…tolerance on your part."

"What is it?" Alistair asked. Anja noted that he seemed much more relaxed now than when Anders had arrived this afternoon. But that wasn't really surprising, given the afternoon's activities.

"I'd like you to go down on her while I take her from behind."

A little moan issued from her lips. Leave it to Anders to guess her most cherished fantasy. Andraste save her—the two of them were going to send her to the Fade before this evening was over.

"I…will that even work?"

"It'll work. Trust me."

Anders had Alistair lie flat on his back, with his head at the headboard. Alistair made himself comfortable and adjusted his pillow, then beckoned Anja with both hands. She crawled over to him and before she could do anything else, he whispered in her ear. "Enjoying yourself?"

"You've no idea," she breathed, then summoned all her gratitude and love for him and covered his face and mouth in kisses. When they slowed, he put his hands around her waist and shimmied her up so she was leaning against the headboard, her arms crossed against the wall.

The moment he started she could tell that something was different. Had he already taken a lesson from Anders? Instead of using the tip of his tongue he was using broad strokes, covering wide swaths of her and avoiding the sensitive parts. As the pleasure started its slow build, she pressed her hips forward and reached down to caress his face and tug softly at his hair. Her position didn't allow her to see anything, but she could hear the sounds of both of men pleasing themselves, and Anders' murmurs of encouragement.

After a couple of minutes the bed creaked and she felt Anders move in behind her. He placed one arm around her and very slowly slid two fingers into her sex, sliding in the wetness that Alistair had left behind and moving with her as she rocked against Alistair's tongue. With his other hand he cupped and kneaded her breast. Anja wondered, with both of them straddling him, if Alistair even had room to breathe. But the groans from deep in his chest and the sounds of him working at his own pleasure reassured her.

Just then she felt Anders press against her entrance. Time seemed to come to a standstill while he rubbed and stroked and circled. "Do it," she hissed. "Do it now, or you'll be washing dishes for a month!" He laughed, and his voice was like honey. He entered her in one thrust, and she was gratified to hear his undignified grunt.

The two men held her closely now—Alistair with one forearm curled around her thigh, Anders with one arm slung low around her hips. There was no escape, no way she could dodge or wriggle away. But once again they let her set the pace, then moved in tandem with her.

Suddenly she felt Alistair start beneath her. Anders chuckled into her shoulder. "Relax, man. It's just a bit of grease. Didn't want you getting the, uh, short end of the stick, as it were," he said, laughing at his own joke. There was no sound from Alistair except a groan as the grease had its intended effect.

They continued that way until Anja was mindless and whimpering. Then Anders' face turned against her shoulder, and she inhaled sharply as she felt a most unexpected, and unexpectedly pleasurable, sensation. A slippery fingertip was lightly exploring the sensitive skin around her anus. With Alistair's tongue painting a masterpiece against her and Anders driving into her and fondling her breast, and now this latest addition, tickling, teasing—she didn't know how much longer she could stand it, at the same time she wanted it never to end.

And then Anders worked his finger just barely inside. For an almost endless moment, everything stopped—then exploded. Anja howled as waves of pleasure washed over her, every muscle in her lower body contracting and quivering in the strongest orgasm of her life. Once again her two lovers followed her, and their exultant cries drew her own crisis out longer than she'd have thought possible.

And once again, after minutes of kissing and petting and murmured words of affection, the three of them fell quickly to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

_Last chapter. Thanks for sticking with it. I know it's been slow!_

~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Anders rose and then crouched beside the bed, his heavy-eyed smile half-lit by moonlight, to say goodnight. She'd never seen him with his hair loose about his face. It really suited him.

"I don't think this will happen again," Anja whispered, her face twisting with both relief and sorrow as she uttered the words. "But…thank you. I'll always care about you. And I hope that you'll always call me your friend."

"Of course," he said. He gazed at her fondly, and in that moment she realized that what she'd always suspected about him was true. "I feel the same way about you, Anja." He squeezed her arm and gave her one last kiss, and she savored it the way she would a salted caramel, lingering and letting it melt warm and sweet upon her tongue.

He dressed quietly and grabbed his things, and then he was gone.

She'd expected to feel quite awkward around him in the following week, but he had the sense not to let on that anything had happened. He was his usual friendly and flirtatious self, save for some utterly subtle, warm glances when no one else was looking.

For the next few days Alistair was not only insatiable but seemed not to care that he and Anja had perfectly clean and private rooms at their disposal. Any time they wound up alone together—in the practice yard, on a walk around the Keep's perimeter, in the armory—he'd pull her into the nearest recess or thicket and do his damnedest to bring her off. One day while passing the stables he dragged her into the tack room, rucked up her skirt, and had her roughly against the wall, grunting with both effort and lust against her ear, his shirt hanging open and his breeches bunched low around his hips.

That night they sat together on her bench. His sandy brows furrowed as he followed the trail of his index finger up and down her arm. "So…I think I understand now what you've been trying to tell me," he said. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

She felt a glimmer of hope rise within her chest, but kept her expression guarded. "You do?"

His finger continued tracing its path, giving her goosebumps. "I thought I knew what I was getting into. I really did. But I keep having these _thoughts_. When we're apart, or if your mind happens to wander while I'm talking to you, or even when we're together in bed…I don't know. I can't help wondering if you're thinking about him."

She nodded and squeezed his hand, feeling the sting of tears. Her goal had never been to hurt him, or to subject him to the same doubts she'd had all this time. Even thinking in those terms felt cheap and calculating. But it had seemed to her, and he'd intuited the same, that there was really no other way to put the two of them on equal footing than to claim an eye for an eye.

Now that he understood what she'd been going through, maybe things would get easier.

"What I did with Morrigan…it wasn't the most noble thing, but you convinced me that I deserved to live. That we deserved to be together. And I'm so glad you convinced me. But there's no way that I can undo the despicable parts of it. They haunt me too, and I don't know what I can do about it. I'm sorry." His shoulders sagged a little.

"But the rest of it…Isabela, Anders…I realize now that I'm not the kind of person who can live like that." He paused, and his eyes bored into her. "I guess what I need to know is, are we even now? Can you be happy with me? You aren't…you don't…" He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair. "You don't _love_ him, do you?"

She was quiet for a minute, trying to crystallize in her mind just what she did feel about him. More than anything, she didn't want to lie to Alistair. If this needed to end between them, it needed to end, and if not, all the cards had to be on the table. "I _care_ about Anders," she said carefully. "He's a good person, and I respect him, and if I'm honest with both of us, I'll probably always be attracted to him. But love him? The way you love someone who you know you can pin your hopes and dreams on? No, I can't say that. I know what he is and what he isn't. And he could never be what you are to me."

She could tell from his expression that it wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear, but it was enough. She threw her arms around his neck and he buried his face in her shoulder, and they stayed like that until the bed beckoned them to sleep.


End file.
